


Alternative Coaching Methods

by forthefuture



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Kink, Father-Son Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, M/M, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthefuture/pseuds/forthefuture
Summary: “P-punishment. I guess.” he said, adding the last two words quickly.“Look at me, Yuuri.” Viktor whispered. Yuuri tentatively blinked his eyes open.“You don't guess.” the silver-haired spoke, “You are absolutely correct.” He smiled at Yuuri, and the latter believed it to be the most attractive, the most enticing, thing he had ever seen.“Would you like me to show you how I would have done it?” Viktor asked, eyes sparkling mischiveously.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there,
> 
> this should not be called Yuri on Ice but Dead by Ice. I tried, tried so hard to keep myself from writing for this fandom (other projects!) but apparently I'm as weak to this show as Yuuri is to his pork cutlet bowls.
> 
> But in all honesty, this is one of the best shows I've ever seen, and quite possibly the best non-BL gay anime of all time. I love it so much <3
> 
> I was thinking a kinky fic this for some time now, and finally managed to dive head-first into it. Since kinks are always a topic to be approached with caution, I made sure there was clear consent from both sides here. And yes. It's absolutely shameless.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading ^-^

The competition was only three more days away and Yuuri was having an especially hard time falling asleep.

This, ironically, almost always happened on the nights where he decided to go to bed especially early for a reason. It was then, when he was not yet sleepy, and had plenty of time to think, that his anxiety kicked in, making him toss and turn in bed until the early hours of the morning. Far from getting a recommended full eight hours of sleep or even more, he was lucky to have rested for about five when he had to wake up.

He sighed and rolled over, burrying his face in the pillow with a groan. The fear of the competition was making his stomach turn. Why had he agreed to this again?

Ah yes. Because of Viktor. Yuuri knew he might not have been the most strong-willed person to have ever walked the earth, but it was comforting that he could count the things that he was _truly_ weak to on the fingers of one hand.

Yuuko-san. Pork Cutlet Bowls. Ice-Skating. Vic-chan (Yuuri never spoke of him in the past).

And of course, at the top of the list- none other than Vic-chan's namesake himself.

Yuri glanced at the stack of posters in the corner of his room. Thank God, he had managed to take them down before Victor saw them. Thank _God._

There had been several, very mortifying incidents in his life (more than there should have been, he believed) but having his idol, the one shining ice-skater he had looked up to ever since he could remember, witness the extent of his admiration for him in this way would have been nothing short of humiliating, let aside how creepy and stalkerish it was.

Yuuri thought about stoving them away, somewhere in a drawer where Viktor, should he insist on them sleeping _together in a room again_ – Yuuri felt faint at the memory – surely would not find them.

There was a knock on this door, then another, then another, each single one loud, angry and demanding.

Yuuri's heart dropped, having a distinctive idea who that could be. He pondered pretending to be asleep or not _there at all_ , when the the noise errupted into a cascada of hammering noises against his door, that were loud enough to arouse anyone in the perimeter.

"Coming, coming!" he called out hurriedly, and rushed to open it. He was met face to face with the scowling blond.

"Kitten." Viktor had dubbed him, and Yuuri thought it fitted him well, at least when one was speaking of a very angry, very mangy kitten. Yurio's hair was ruffled, his shoulders hunched in a defensive posture. At least, psychological analysis told Yuuri it was _defensive_ , to him it looked a little more intimidating than it probably should have.

"Can I come in?" Yurio grumbled, and then let himself in without waiting for an answer. He pushed Yuuri aside, nuding the latter with his shoulder in a way that was too rough to have been accidental, and the lack of an apology after confirmed this theory.

"Do you need something?" Yuuri asked, face chiseled in the polite, helpful way that he used when helping out in his family's onsen.

And it wasn't entirely wrong, was it, he thought. Yurio was a guest, even if he had come under special circumstances. Although, special were not nearly enough to describe the miracle of Victor Nikiforov greeting him butt-naked in his family's hot springs.

_Viktor Nikiforov._

_Naked._

_Here, in his house._

Yuuri's knees still felt rather wobbly.

"I want to talk to you." the junior skater snapped without further ado, jabbing a finger in his chest, right below his sternum. Backing away a step, Yuuri gasped at the light pain.

The blond noticed, and immediately withdrew his finger, although he didn't bother hiding a spiteful smirk.

"Sure. What's the matter?" Yuuri asked, deciding to not call him out on it, even managing to retain his smile.

Plisetsky's scowl deepened. "You are the matter." he hissed.

Yuuri felt the pang in his chest. He was surprised by how much the words, spoken by a fifteen year old he barely knew, hurt, but they did. But this wasn't just any fifteen year old. Yuri Plisetsky, and no one except the bad-tempered blond would deny it, had a special, close bond with Victor Nikiforov. And although he knew that Yurio was not too fond of him, he'd never expected his hatred to go to this extent.

"Did I do something?" he forced himself to ask, voice rough like sandpaper, barely managing to pronounce the words. He wondered if he would tear up.

Yurio was positively fuming. "Quit screwing around." he snapped, "You're so damn oblivious, I can't stand it. Makes me want to vomit." He glared at him, before beginning to pace up and down restlessly.

Yuuri could do nothing but watch him, arms hanging loosely by his side as Viktor Nikiforov's favourite student rampaged through his bedroom. He began panicking when he realized the blond had come to a standstill right in the corner of his room, right in front of he posters. He was eyeing them with a look one might give a heap of cockroaches.

"You. Totally. Suck." Yurio pronounced, drew back his foot, and emphasized the last word by kicking right against the stash. Naturals at ice skating were not immediately naturals at football though, and the posters' only soared a few centimetres before landing back on the ground.

But because fate couldn't stand Yuuri, one of them did so with the picture facing the ceiling.

Yuuri winced. He prayed that Yuri was so caught up in his rage that he wouldn't notice, but there were few things that would escape those sceptic eyes, and a flashy poster of his coach were, of course, not among them.

"The hell's this?" the blond muttered, and bend down to pick it up. Yuuri witnessed how his eyebrows travelled higher and higher the more he took in of the picture.

"Seriously?" Yurio asked, and swirled around to stare at Yuuri with a deadpan expression.

"I- I really liked Viktor, alright?" Yuuri said, voice wavering, and he wondered why on earth he felt the need to defend himself, but he did.

"Nothing wrong with that. And please don't go through my things, yes?"

But a polite request would rarely have helped where Yuri Plisetsky was concerned, he should have known.

Yurio merely snorted, and dropped the poster as though he'd burned himself. Then, he picked up the next one, and turned it around before Yuuri could stop him. Defeated, the brunette skater had to witness how a pair of critical eyes scanned it with obvious disgust.

"You're _shitting me,_ right?" Yurio grumbled, and shook his head, "I can't believe this. Are they all like that?"

"Yes, they are, you needn't make an effort of going through all of them!" Yuuri called out, tripping over his words, but the other Yuri ignored him, unfolding poster after poster.

Each one was graced with a look of annoyance and a dismal click of his tongue, and when he had apparently seen enough, Yuuri hurtled the last poster away with a hiss.

"You're such a weirdo." Yurio growled.

Yuuri resigned himself to his fate.

"Look." he said, attempting to sound friendly despite wanting to dig a hole in the ground and bury himself in there for the next years to come, "To be honest, I don't see what I did wrong."

Yurio's eyebrows were starting a trip upwards, so he hurriedly added: "I was a big fan of Viktor growing up, and I still like him now. That's all! Just like you!"

Yurio snorted. "No. Not _like me_. And that's the fucking problem."

"What do you mean?" Yuuri asked, his heart starting to race. He burried his sweaty hands in the confines of his trouser pockets, and feigned confusion. Although he thought he knew what the blond was referring to, he could never admit to it. The little peace he'd have left in his life would be destroyed.

"Stop being so obnoxious!" Yurio now yelled. Yuuri took a step backwards, but the other skater stayed in his place, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.

His eyes were glazed over, and among the usual rage, Yuuri saw desperation.

"You can't take him away from me! I won't let you take him away! You have a family and you can have any woman you want! You don't have to take him!" Yurio threw at him, voice positively scathing.

Yuuri felt a lilttle numb. "I'm not trying to take Viktor away from you." he said, weakly, but Yurio shook his head so fervently, as though he was trying to throw his words off right before they could reach him.

"You are! You are taking him away, and you know what? It's _not fair_!"

Yurio's voice had risen to a shout.

"You suck! You're fat, your performance sucks and _you_ suck! You don't deserve to have him all to yourself! He's all I got!" The blond took a deep breath and blinked, angrily rubbing over his eyes with the back of his hand. Yuuri's own, rising anger rapidly abated when he noticed that Yurio was nearly crying.

"Yuri-" Yuuri tried, all of a sudden feeling terribly guilty, "Yuri, listen, I'm sorry if -

"No, just shut up!" Yuri cut across him, and Yuuri closed his mouth.

"Because of you, he's going to stay here! He'll leave me! And what for? To waste his time coaching you!" His voice quivered. "I hate this!"

Yuuri wanted to reply something, but with every word Yurio spoke, he felt more and more of his confidence leave him. He was right. There was no logical reason as to why Viktor Nikiforov wanted to stay here, with someone like him who'd done a horrible job in his first Grand Prix, who was as clumsy and chubby and just, completely useless, like him.

Yurio said something more, but he had already tuned out. He thought he heard footsteps in the background, but did not have the energy to think about what exactly he would say to his mother. Probably make up an excuse on the spot. He was good at least at that sort of thing, he thought grimly.

"And anyway, you should just leave him alone, you stupid fag-"

" _Yuri Plisetsky_." a familiar voice snapped in the background and both Yuri's flinched, before Viktor stepped into the room.

Yuuri was too shocked at his sudden apperance ( at his sudden, fresh-from-the-onsen appearance, all glazed skin and soft hair that fell into his eyes, _dear God why are you testing me,_ Yuuri thought) to do more then open and close his mouth with the appeal of a goldfish.

Viktor gave him a quick, reassuring smile, before grabbing Yurio by the collar of shirt and hauling him up firmly. Despite the situation, Yuuri had to suppress a grin at by how much more alike a kitten Yurio became at that moment.

"What did you say?" Viktor asked, a strong Russian accent lining his flawless English, looking at Yurio with a mixture of sternness and exasperation.

Yuri mumbled something in Russian and turned his head away.

"Don't _"nothing"_ me." the pro-skater lectured him, effectively translating for Yuuri at the same time, "I know what you said. I _heard it_ , and I'm not proud, Yuratchka. Do we speak to our hosts that way?"

Yurio pressed his lips together without answering, and Viktor sighed, dropping him back to the ground, while retaining a hold on his collar. He repeated his question.

"It's fine, it's really alright, Viktor-san." Yuuri decided to cut in.

Yuri might not have said the friendliest things to him, and it would be a while until he would stop feeling down because of it, but he knew the blond was just as stressed and desperate as he was, and he felt sorry for him.

"We just had an argument, I've already forgotten."

"It's not alright." Viktor said, shaking his head, fixing Yurio with a disapproving glare. "Apologize. Now. You know better than this." And then he added something in Russian, in a softer tone.

Yuuri would have been lying if he said he had never looked up basic Russian terms.

He thought, if he ever were to meet his idol – which had seeemed a dream so far away at the time it had been merely a laughable fantasy – he wanted to at least be able to greet him in his native language.

The words that fell in the interviews sounded brisk but appealing on Viktor's tongue, secretive, magical.

Yuuri had wanted to be able to speak them himself.

Of course, with school and skating every day, plus his family's onsen, there was little to no time for additional language study, but Yuuri managed to grab bits and pieces there over the years.

But even that casual studying seemed have paid off, as he'd picked up _"pozhaluysta"_

from the conversation, which he knew meant "please."

"I'm sorry." Yurio mumbled eventually, still not meeting his eyes.

Viktor nodded, appearing satisfied.

"Is that okay?" he directed the question at Yuri, even making an effort to bow slightly, "Please forgive our rudeness."

"It's fine, it's fine." Yuuri was quick to assure both of them, blushing at the awkwardness of the situation. He tried not to think about what it was that Yuri had attempted to call him, and how close it had hit to home.

"Alright." Viktor breathed in deeply. He smiled at Yuuri, a smile that melted all of his common sense and turned his legs to jelly. He staggered backwards.

Viktor either hadn't noticed, or perhaps was so used to the effect he had on people that it was second nature at him to pretend to not have.

"Time for bed, Yuratchka." he told the blond, patting his shoulder amicably, "It's eleven already and you have training tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah." Yurio grumbled, and without another glance at Yuuri, made his way towards the door. He slid it open, hesitating and then slowly turned to glance at Viktor with a questioning look in his eyes.

"Aren't you coming?"

"In a bit. There's something I still need to discuss with Yuuri here for the competition."

Yurio rolled his eyes, producing a " _Tch"_ under his breathe and then wallked out, making sure to slam the door shut hard enough for the frame to rattle.

They both twitched at the noise. "If he does break something, please bill me." Viktor told him cheerfully.

The latter nodded, not finding it hard to imagine all the different ways in which the youngest skater might still give his destructive anger form.

"So?" Viktor asked, and Yuuri jumped.

"S-so?" he stammered. Had he missed out on something Viktor said?

His heart slid into his throat. He was starting to become more and more self-aware with every second that he spent in room alone with Viktor Nikiforov. And what impression was he making with his unwashed hair, in baggy clothes that he had never bothered throwing out because " _No one sees them anyway, mum." ?_

A current of self-loathing for his younger version surged through him. But, as it turned out, Viktor was paying attention to something else entirely.

"So. You used to be quite the collector, hm?" Viktor asked, voice a little lower than he usually spoke. He jerked his head in the direction of the posters that were still scattered over Yuuri's wooden floor.

Three of them were facing upwards, projecting pictures of himself back at the idol who was perusing them with unhidden interest.

Yuuri froze in shock, cold sweat forming on his hands.

"Oh. I mean, when I was younger, yeah?" Yuuri said, stammering, stumbling over the words like he did over the frozen rink of Hatetsu castle, back when he was a beginner, inexperienced, back when he didn't know what the word _love_ really meant.

"Well, I mean." he added, realizing that he was only making it worse.

Rather than studying the posters, the ice-skater had turned around and was instead studying him.

"It's cute." he stated, laying a finger to his lips thoughtfully and smirking. Yuuri wanted to die.

" Please, just- please just pretend you didn't, didn't see-please, I-"

Then, something warm, very warm pressed against his cheek.

Something, no- _someone-_ let out a tiny sound.

Yuuri realized too late, far too late, that he had _squeaked_.

"You are a little piggy though, aren't you?" Viktor chuckled, pulling away, "In every way there is. But no, no, that's good. At least I can be sure my assumption was right, hm?"

Yuuri knew that by all good reason, he was supposed to feel not only moritfied, but deeply insulted.

Viktor Nikiforov's hand, gently squeezing his buttcheeks, made this a lot more difficult.

"Ugh." Yuuri groaned, before he knew what was happening, "Y-yes."

"Is this all right?" Viktor asked, his voice missing his signature teasing note.

Yuuri nodded fervently. It must have looked comical, as Viktor let out another chuckle.

"You're one of a kind, Yuuri." he said warmly, "Come. Sit with me."

Only Viktor Nikiforov could invite someone to sit onto their own bed, the thought slipped through Yuuri's clouded mind, but he did as Viktor had asked.

He would be lying if he claimed he had never imagined this, in the wildest of his many fantasies revolving around his idol.

Viktor Nikiforov raised his head, and smiled at him. In his bedroom. Yuuri felt as though he could've cried in joy.

And then, a wholly different sort of cry escaped his mouth.

"Oh, this is good, very good." Viktor praised, sounding delighted, "It's not that often that a partner likes this as much as you do."

"It's not?" Yuuri asked, grounding his hips into his bed and biting his lip hard to keep himself from cying out as Viktor's skillfull hand squeezed his ass once more. _Oh no, no, no, no_. He fought hard to not reach out and touch himeself, as a rush of neediness filled every crevice of his body.

"Not at all." Victor said quietly, and Yuuri was still contemplating whether his un-averageness was good or bad in this context when the warm hand withdrew and came back with a slap.

Yuuri jolted on the bed, crying out softly. His face was burning with shame, and- _dear god, this couldn't be happening_ \- arousal.

"Still enjoy it it?" Viktor asked. Another serious question, and those sea-blue eyes that never quite left him alone were looking for a genuine answer.

"Still enjoy it." Yuuri whispered, "I'- I'm sorry-"

"No, no, no." Viktor cut him off, in a tone that was decisive but kind, "You have nothing to apologize for. Not at all."

"Really?" Yuuri asked, trembling a little. This was unknown territory, but the only regret he felt was ridiculously the one of why he _hadn't discovered this sooner._

Viktor apparently had. But then, this was Viktor Nikiforov and if Viktor Nikforov had already sat down for dinner with Barack Obama after lunch with the Queen, then Yuuri would not be surprised.

"No. There's one more thing I'd like to know though." Viktor said, observing him contentemplatively.

"Yeah?" Yuri asked, weakly. He was surprised himself that his voice had not yet left him.

"Tell me- do you think Yuri's apology was sufficient? Yurio's? Was it enough?" Viktor asked.

"Well, I suppose-"

Viktor raised an eyebrow.

"I- I suppose not." Yuuri mumbled.

"No, it wasn't." Viktor said, sighing a little, "And believe me, I will have a talk with him. But that's not what I was trying to say."

His lips lifted in a smirk. "You do know what I'm trying to say, don't you, little piglet?"

Yuuri didn't have the energy to protest. He was glad that he'd sat down. His legs were quivering so badly that he wouldn't have been able to hold himself upright, he was certain.

"I think so." he said, wondering if Viktor was testing him, "So you're saying you would have- would have-"

Viktor slid closer to him, further diminishing the already miniscule distance that had previously been between them. Yuuri was not about to complain.

Viktor's warm, soft ( _how was it so soft?_ ), strong hand found his own, interlacing his fingers with Yuuri's. Yuuri knew that it was absolutely impossible to hide his impending blush from the skater now, and so, he did not try.

"Say it." Viktor urged him on, voice smooth like velvet, "Tell me what I could have done to Yurio. What every older, stricter coach might have done to Yurio."

"But that's not-" Yuuri quickly protested. Viktor silenced him by pressing a finger to Yuuri's lips.

" _Theoretically_ speaking. Don't worry, as much as I want his atittude to improve, it's not a method I believe in." he explained, "Never have, never will."

Yuuri nodded, relieved. He knew how important the younger skater was to his idol, and despite Yuri's abrave personality, knew this fondness went both ways.

"Tell me, little piglet." Viktor's voice drew him back into the present, pulling his finger away.

Yuuri's throat dried, realizing he was aked to honestly speak his mind. How could he even put this into words?

He closed his eyes, at least not wanting to face Viktor for the onslaught of humiliation that was about to escape from his mouth.

"P-punishment. I guess." he said, adding the last two words quickly.

"Look at me, Yuuri." Viktor whispered. Yuuri tentatively blinked his eyes open.

"You don't guess." the silver-haired spoke, "You are absolutely correct." He smiled at Yuuri, and the latter believed it to be the most attractive, the most enticing,thing he had ever seen.

"Would you like me to show you how I would have done it?" Viktor asked, eyes sparkling mischiveously.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Ow." Yuuri moaned, softly. Viktor's hand slapped him again, with a bit more force behind the impact.

Yuuri's head was swimming, and unintentionally, he began grinding himself against the legs he'd

been placed over. It felt too good to be true.

 _Smack_.Yuuri wondered if anyone would be able to hear them, and prayed for that not to be the case. _Smack._ Viktor's hand, that soft hand that had started so slowly, gradually warming him up, had fallen into a steady rhythm.

 _Smack. Smack. Smack._ "Ugh." Yuuri whined, twitching in excitement.

 _Smack_. "What a bad boy you've been, hm?" Viktor asked, emphasizing his statement with another firm smack to the other cheek.

 _Smack._ "Right, Yuuri?"

"Yes." Yuuri replied, feeling as though he would have said anything, _anything_ in the whole world to keep Victor going.

 _Smack._ "I'm very disappointed." _Smack_. "I expected better of you, Yuuri." _Smack._

"I want you to take your training seriously, you know that?" Victor added, making his tone sound more demanding, punctuating his question with two slaps to Yuuri's thighs.

"I'm sorry." Yuuri whimpered, grinding himself even harsher, more urgently against Viktor.

But all of a sudden, his idol's hand secured him with a firm grip.

"Did I say you could do that, little piglet?"

The demeaning name, for some reason or the other, went straigh to Yuuri's groin.

Viktor must have felt this, as he chuckled quietly.

 _Smack_. "You didn't." Yuuri hurried to say, "You didn't- but.." - _Smack_ \- "Please, Viktor-san...please." he added, voice drifting into a whine as Viktor began laying a series of quicker smacks to the sensitive undercurve of his stinging bottom.

"I'll think about it." Viktor said, voice husky, and Yuuri recalled that he certainly wasn't the only one affected by this situation.

 _Smack._ "You will be on time." _Smack._ "You will never talk back to me" _Smack Smack._ "You will practice until I'm satisfied." _Smack. Smack. Smack._

"Yes, Viktor. Yes!" Yuuri cried out, and almost sobbed in relief when Victor loosened his hold on his waist, so that he could do the tiniest bit to relieve his overwhelming need.

Instead, the idol's hand took a hold of the wasteband of his boxers.

"Is this okay?" Viktor asked, and the carefully crafted demanding tone vanished in favour of an uncertain question.

"Yes." Yuuri whispered, before he could think twice about it and die from mortification, "Yes- _please_ -"

Viktor slipped his pants down, but left them on. They trapped his thighs well, and the added sensation of restrain felt tried not to think too long about all the things his body and mind apparently reacted favourably to.

"Okay, get ready." Viktor instructed him quietly.

 _Smack_. Yuuri gasped, realizing it did hurt that much more on the skin.

"I think I haven't heard an apology." Viktor said, raining down slap after slap

"For being so _bad_."

"I'm sorry." Yuuri said, beginning to squirm as his bottom grew warm and the sting intensified.

 _Smack_. "And for being so desirable." Viktor added, a little teasingly, and Yuuri was glad that the skater could not see his face.

"I'm sorry." he repeated, meekly. Viktor chuckled, and then said: "I think we're almost done."

Yuuri asked himself how messed up beyond recognition he was for feeling a sense of _loss_ at the idea. But then, he was at the end of his restraint as well, and wondered if he would last through whatever it was that Viktor had prepared for him, or if he would- he would- his eyes widened, and he jerked in surprise as one of the hardest slaps so far landed on his bottom.

"Twenty." Viktor said, smoothly, "They won't be easy, so be ready, little piglet."

And Yuri cried out as he fulfilled his promise.

_Smack._

Yuuri groaned, asking himself how he would survive until the end.

_Smack. Smack. Smack._

"I'm sorry, Viktor." he whimpered, having lost count and being fully aware that Viktor would not have expected him to, "I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry." He trailed off, voice growing weak.

Victor didn't reply, continuing to punish him, and Yuuri only realized that he had ended when the hand that had been slapping him wrapped around something else.

"Victor-" he stammered, asking himself why he was still so embarassed after what they'd done.

"Is this alright too, Yuuri?" Victor asked regardless, and appreciation for this angel of a man flooded Yuuri.

"Yes." Yuuri whispered.

Viktor's deft fingers began rubbing up and down his member, edging him towards his orgasm.

Yuuri knew he would not last for much longer, and it only took a few, steady pumps for him to let out an embarassingly loud whine and come all over Viktor's hand, quivering and legs spasming.

Victor continued to carefully rub him through his aftershocks until Yuuri became oversensitive and prodded his hand for him to let go, letting out a soft sigh.

It turned into a purr as Viktor then used his other hand to gently massage his back.

"So, you are the kitten now, aren't you?" he asked, amused. The term reminded Yuuri a little too much of the other Yuri, so he groaned and shook his head. Viktor laughed.

"I'd like to pay you back." Yuuri mumbled after a while of silence, "I mean- for all of this."

He began lifting himself up and Viktor helped him to manoveur himself off his lap.

Yuuri hissed as his sore bottom made contact with the previously soft mattress of his bed.

Although, by some instance, he liked that it did.

He glanced at Viktor, hoping he was gentleman enough to not mention his obvious discomfort.

"You don't have to." Viktor said, "You must be sore, little piglet." He winked.

Yuuri flushed. What had he even expected?

"That doesn't matter." he mumbled, "I'm sure I could concentrate much better if I knew you were also, um- _content_."

Satisfied, he thought, was far too much of a lewd term to be spoken out loud in this very context.

Viktor began to grin. "Well, if you want, I suppose I won't refuse."

Yuuri couldn't help but stare as he stood up and slowly slid out of pants in a practiced motion. Those lean, beautiful legs had always mesmerized him and seeing them up close, seeing them _naked_ , was something else entirely. The posters didn't nearly do the piece of art that was Viktor Nikiforov justice.

Viktor lowered his own boxers and Yuuri's firm idea that nothing would be able to shock him any longer was thrown out of the window when he was greeted with the ice-skater's huge, very prominent, erection.

"As I said." Viktor told him, appearing oddly self-concious, "There are only few people in my experience who enjoy this sort of thing." He rubbed his neck and gave Yuuri a tentative smile: "Me being one of them, too."

"Ah." Yuuri stammered, all of a sudden feeling like they were sharing a big secret.

_But what did all of this mean for them?_

He walked up to Viktor before carefully kneeling down in front of him. He hesitated for a split second.

What if he wouldn't like it? What if he would make a fool out of himself?

"Yuuri...we needn't do this, if you don't-" Viktor asked, having misinterpreted his thoughts, and moaned quietly as Yuuri's lips closed around his member.

Yuuri improvised, slowly adjusting to the foreign feeling of having another man's cock in his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, and then, experimentally licked the side.

Viktor let out a noise that was akin to a whimper and reassured Yuuri that he was apparently on the right path.

If giving his male figure-skating idol a blowjob in his bedroom was anywhere near the right path, and not on the one of unspeakable moral deterioration, that was.

He did his best to relax, and take as much of Viktor as he could into his mouth.

The ice-skater groaned pleasantly, and opened his legs a bit further.

Yuuri began to lick him faster and firmer, and Viktor apparently liked this, because all of a sudden there was hand in Yuuri's hair, and the slight discomfort of having his hair diminished in comparison to Viktor openly showing his need.

"I'm sorry." Viktor mumbled above him, and Yuuri felt his grip slacken, "If it hurts-"

Yuuri shook his head, _no_ , hoping Viktor understood.

He sucked him in a little harder, spurred on by the moans that spilled out of Viktor's mouth now in heightening frequencies.

It didn't take quite as long as Yuuri would have anticipated.

The ice-skater's fingers tightened in his hair, tugging it harsher than they had before, and Yuuri looked up just in time to see Viktor shoot him a look of desperation. He quickly pulled off.

Viktor came only seconds later, legs shaking, gasping for breath, spilling onto Yuuri's face.

He closed his eyes, expression blissful, and it was enough to send Yuuri's heart reeling in happiness, as he absent-mindedly wiped his cheeks and his mouth clean.

 _He_ had done this. _He_ had made Viktor Nikiforov wear this expression. No matter how many competitions he might still win, nothing would ever be enough to erase this moment from his mental list of Greatest Achievements.

"Thank you, Yuuri." Viktor said, softly, "Thank you."

"It was n-nothing." Yuuri mumbled, watching as Viktor redressed himsef and then, gracing him with one of his winning smiles, slowly lowered himself to his knees.

And pulled Yuuri into his arms. The brunette shivered when Viktor pressed a gentle kiss to his sensitive neck.

"If the situation wasn't as it was, I would give a you a proper kiss." Viktor whispered, "But I thought...that could wait until after _Hot Springs on Ice_?"

"You mean." Yuuri asked, "When, or rather, _if_ , I win? Then you...will?"

He pressed himself close to Viktor, inhaling his pleasant scent. Yuuri thought it was a place where he could have stayed the entire night.

"Hmm...no." Viktor said, contemplatively, and Yuuri was only given a second to feel disappointed, when he added: "I'll give you one regardless, shall we say?"

Yuuri's eyes widened. Viktor was serious about this. But how could he be, if they hadn't even properly spoken about it? He sighed, and decided to take the first step.

"Viktor, we...we need to talk." he said, biting his lip, "About-" he motioned uncertainly, "All of this. How we'll...go on." His heart was racing.

"Don't worry about that." Viktor replied, nodding, "We will talk. But all of this can wait after the competition." He carressed Yuuri's face. " After all, I don't want to hinder your chances of winning."

Yuuri lent into the touch. Viktor's words made sense. His head was full enough of the competition as it was. Any questions concerning dating Viktor Nikiforov – _how had this happened, how on earth was he not dreaming up all of this_ – needed their own time to be decided.

Although, in Yuuri's case, he had always known the answer.

"I'll show you the best Eros you've ever seen." he said, determinedly.

"I can't wait." Viktor whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They stayed in the embrace, in their own cozy little world, for a little while longer.

It was Yuuri that grumbled in disagreement when Viktor slowly began to disentangle himself.

"We have training tomorrow, don't we?" Viktor reminded him, and winked, "Or do you need a reminder to listen to your coach?" His suggestive tone left no doubt about what he was referring to.

Yuuri blushed scarlet.

Before he could defend himself, however, the other frowned.

"Looks like someone else would need one." he sighed, clicking his tongue.

Yuuri checked his own notifications, and there it was.

 _yuri-plisetsky_ had loaded a new picture to his instagram account, only a second ago.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yurio was spread out on his bed, headphones on and typing away on his phone when Viktor pushed the door open.

" _Sto_?" he growled, _What?_

"Were you on your phone until now?" Viktor asked, and Yuuri could see that there was a pleasant smile on his lips. Victor's baiting smile.

" _Da_.", _Yes._

"Why?" Viktor asked, cheerful tone contrasting starkly with the scolding he was about to give, "Why were your on your phone? Don't you have training tomorrow? Starting at eight? Didn't I tell you to go to bed?"

There wasn't a hint of irritation in his voice. Yuuri found it admirable, as much as it was terrifying.

"Piss off." Yurio growled, in English this time, "I didn't know what you two were about to do, in there-" he shot Yuuri, who was uncertainly standing a little distance away from Viktor and still asking himself why he had come with him, a glare, "So just _in case you were going to traumatize me_ , I put my music on loud."

The relief Yuuri felt was so overwhelming that he wanted to hug Yurio, this unparalleled, unintentionally considerate, genius skater kid.

It was only Yuri's death glare that stopped him from taking another step in the boy's direction.

"That's nice and all Yuri." Viktor said, without commenting on Yurio's suspicions, still radiating friendliness, "But I think this is a good moment to hand over your phone until the next morning. You don't need it when you're sleeping, do you?" He held out his hand.

" _Sto?"_ Yurio snapped, jumping to his feet.

Viktor's eyes narrowed and he issued a sharp command in Russian.

" _Srazu."_ was the only word Yuuri could make out, which he knew meant _at once._

Yurio grumbled something under his breath, before reluctantly dropping his phone in Viktor's waiting hand and striding past him towards the bathroom.

"Thank you." Viktor called after him, all cheerful again.

Without turning around, Yurio graced him with an explicit hand gesture that made Yuuri swallow.

"Ah, puberty." the silver-haired sighed, fondly shaking his head, "Keeps you young."

Yurio's anger towards Viktor was short lived. When he returned from the bathroom, changing into a nightshirt, most of their argument seemed forgotten already. He was tired, Yuuri realized. He _was_ only fifteen, after all.

Yurio didn't complain when Viktor pulled the blankets around him, and even allowed the older skater to press a kiss to his forehead.

Viktor mumbled something incoherent in Russian, Yurio nodded and then, Viktor finally stepped outside.

" _Dobroy nochi_." he said, and Yuuri hurried to repeat it.

" _Dobroy nochi_." Yurio replied, and added, so quietly that the other two barely heard him, "And, um. _Oya-sumi."_

Yuuri's heart jumped. " _Oyasumi_." he said, unable to suppress a smile, "Sleep well."

"Yeah, whatever." Yuri mumbled, turning over quickly so he was facing away from them, "You two better not be doing anything disgusting while I sleep."

Viktor closed his door and then turned towards Yuuri.

The mischiveous glint was back in his eye. "I take it back. I can't wait until _after_ the competition."


End file.
